Echoes.

So, in the past few months I’ve started eating better and have hired a personal trainer.
This is quite the expense for someone who lives very paycheck to paycheck – kids don’t feed themselves, you know – and was something I contemplated for a while.

You see, I’m used to being skinny.  Have always been somewhat of a small girl, even though I was curvy.  Being 5’11″ helped hide the extra weight anyway and even at my heaviest, when I reached that stage where I could say that I weighed the same as I had when I had given birth, I still looked great.

Though I didn’t know it at the time.

NOW, however, I don’t look quite as great.

That’s not a Debbie Downer – it’s simply the truth.  After losing weight for K’s wedding with some old fashioned, but effective, stress dieting, I had gotten to a size rarely seen in my life and looked great doing it.
But.
Because the dieting was so unhealthy I gained it back.  And then some.
I gained more weight than I ever could have imagined.
In fact, I now weigh an embarrassing 70 POUNDS more than I did when K got married.  And to say that I spent some of that time inert would be an understatement.

I love to exercise, always have.
But I love to do it on my own terms.
In the weight room/gym, in a place where I can get done and go grab a bite when I feel like I’m done.
I can’t run and end up 10 miles away and decide I’d like to be through, no.  I want A/C and entertainment on my runs.  A little electronic numerical goal to count down to.

And I’d sort of walked away from all of that.

But now I’m marrying a man that can sit in a chair and make me look like a lazy slob.  He NEVER. STOPS. MOVING.  Ever.  He bounces and jitters and runs and racquetballs and bikes and softballs and all of these other things that make me tired just thinking about them.

And I knew that I needed to step it up and get in shape, if only to keep up with him in the grocery.

And so I hired a trainer.
An amazingly fit woman who laughs at my jokes, listens to my crap and then tells me to shut up and do the work.
It’s a perfect relationship and I can’t believe sometimes that I am paying for this torture.
Nor can I believe that with the 4 months of eating great and working out 5 days a week, that I haven’t lost a pound.

And I haven’t.
But I have lost 3 inches.
And for those of you that say that’s what matters, well.  Kiss my.  Um.  Big toe?
because I don’t know where those 3 inches went, but they certainly aren’t the three that are helping me fit into smaller clothes.
NOTHING about  my clothing size has changed.

So I’ve gotten frustrated.
And have been behaving badly.
Sneaking Mountain Dew and Lorna Doones and when I finally weighed myself yesterday after a week of this, I realized with surprise that I have lost 5 pounds this week.

Wha?

Now, I know the food isn’t good for me, and I will try to jump back on the healthy bandwagon, but it’s amazing how the first amount of self confidence boosting I have had in the past few months with regards to my body has come through two liters of Rootbeer and some junk food.

Now if I could only find a pizza or burger that would help me get rid of my double chin…